Patrick is a Ugandan Entrepreneur, acclaimed film maker and Ad-man, whose company Xibra, markets mobile platform solutions and provides creative communication services.
He has worked with leading brands like Google, MTN Uganda and South African Tourism Board. Patrick's writing brings a fresh new perspective to Technology, marketing and secrets to success
This blog is inspired by the numerous walks he take to the kiosk (Duuka).

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

The night our house flooded

Christine, Mum and I (1996)

In the year 1998,
Kenya experienced heavy rains, perhaps the worst to date which led to the
famous floods which caused the loss of homes, property and lives. We were one
of the families affected.

The sun was shining
bright in the sky as the birds flew by and the wind was crisp. Dust filled the
playground as the primary three boys kicked the soccer ball as usual after
school. That day mom picked me up early which was unusual, in a new Nissan
Sunny that smoothly drove up the driveway.

We lived off Hurlingham road in Nairobi at the bottom in a court of marionettes
which were a short distance from the main road. Many of our guests got lost
because the courts were name­less, I do not know why, probably they couldn’t
figure out an appropriate name. The court had seven marionettes double stored,
each looking alike, four on the lower side and three on the opposite. We lived
in house number four, the very last one in the lower corner. We were the only
African in the neighborhood, the rest were of Indian descent.

Immediately on
reaching home, I hurried upstairs to change into my sports kit and before mother
could get me to have evening tea; I was out playing with my friend Samir who
lived in house number six. We usually played soccer or cricket. Each time we
were outside, we had to be as quite as possible which was less likely especially
around house number two where an old mean looking Indian lady often came out to
yell at us in a funny ascent whenever she heard a sound around her premises.
She spent most of her time at home; I guess it is an Asian practice for women
to stay home while the men go to work. “What are you doing here? Go home before
I tell your parents” she often yelled.

We
hadn’t played for long before the clear sky turned gloomy with the possibility
of rain. At first we ignored the weather and continued to play. Less than
fifteen minutes later, a light drizzle started. We took cover in the shade hoping
it would clear soon but it just got worse, fast. We both retreated to our homes
on realizing it was probably going to pore until the following morning.

As I walked back to
my room from the shower, I suddenly heard the sound of water whooshing downstairs.
Wrapped in a towel, I slowly made my way down to take a peek at the strange
sound I had heard. But I could not believe what I was seeing, my mom and sister
were fetch water from the house and pouring it into the back yard. The water was flowing in through
the front door in full force. I rushed up to my room to wear something appropriate
and back down to the kitchen for a bucket to join the struggle. But soon I realize it wasn’t making any
difference because the water level in the house was rising faster than we could
dispose of in the back yard.

Mom started emptying the
cupboards in the living room into the kitchen counters as I carried what I
could upstairs. It was coming to about seven o’clock and Dad had not come from
the office yet. The maid was off already so it was just I, mum and Christine my
sister who was older by three years.

Soon mum asked
Christine to sit because she was starting to get in the way. I know she wanted
to help but her mental sickness (I was not told the exact disease) made it
difficult for her to comprehend instructions. It had almost been a year since
she had been diagnosed. She was losing her memory steadily with the dawn of
each day. It was painful to watch her forget a lot of the things worth
remembering. Her illness caused physical deteriorating too. The doctors had said
she would heal when she turned 17 however she sadly passed on five years later
at the age of 20. None of us went to the funeral because we received the news of
her passing on Christmas Eve 2003 that she had passed on four months prior. Christmas
2003 was bittersweet. I was happy I was having Christmas in Uganda for the
first time and yet it was sad that I had lost my sister.

The
water was rushing in at a faster rate than I could keep up with and I didn't have
time to sit with Christine, so I put on a movie for her upstairs and I rushed
back down to retrieve valuable items like family albums, electronics and books.
Mom was struggled to walk through the water to hand be things. It had now gone above
her ankle. I moved as fast as my little legs could carry me while hold­ing onto
as many things as I possibly could carry at a go. I might have fallen down a couple
of times on the wet stair case but at the time I didn’t feel any pain. All I
saw and felt was what needed to be done.

In
the backyard, behind the bushy fence, a gentle stream that flowed into greater
Nairobi was becoming violent as it filled up. The water from the stream was
starting to make its way onto the lawn as the water from rushing in from the
front door filled the house. We were trapped. It was now the ultimate race
against time.

As I stood in the
back yard, trying to figure out what to do next, Eve our neighbor who was in
the ten grade came knocking at the front door. As usual, she was home alone as
her dad who was a business­man was away on a long trip. The water level had
significantly risen; it had reached my knees.

Without hesitation, I
tried opening the door but the levers were stuck. My Mom rushed to help and on
the count of three we yanked it wide open. We were both thrown back by a big
wave of water that gushed in, which had previously been blocked by the front
door. It was like opening Pandora’s box. The water level rose to about 3.7
feet. For a second, I almost regretted my decision for opening for Eve however
when I saw how freighted she and her dog were, I felt sad. She was handling the
nightmare all on her own. At least I had Mum and Christine with me. They were
not the toughest how­ever they did provide emotional comfort which was more
than Eve had.

Soon the sofa sets
floated away towards the back door, I was panicking as mom tried calling dad
but the land-line was down and she didn't have a mobile phone by then.

It
was getting dangerous to stay in the house. To our luck, our neighbors in the
opposite house came to invite us to take refuge at theirs. There was no use
staying my mother emphasized. Most of our property downstairs had already made
its way to the back yard and into the neighbor’s whose wall had collapsed.

As we walked out of the house against the tide
towards the neighbor’s house, holding hands, I remembered I had forgotten
Christine. I rushed back in to get her. She was standing in the middle of the living
room, scared, alone and shivering. When I called out her name she became
confused and instead started walking towards the door leading to the back yard.
Out there it was like a wild sea. Sofas floating and dirty water filled with silt from the river. She was getting closer to the door and my slippers were
stopping me from moving as swiftly as I wanted or needed to. I closed my eyes,
held my breath and took one for the team, diving into the dirty brown water to
swim towards her. A few strokes and I found myself at the door but she was nowhere
to be seen. I tried reaching for the porch light but before I could turn it on,
I was hit hard by a book shelf, throwing me back into the water.

More
than downing, I was scared I was going to lose Christine. I swam into the back
yard where thunder and lightning now ruled the skies.